


Golden Boy

by blueberrytea



Series: Broken [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, and mentions of attempted suicide, maybe a "friend" is thomas, maybe i should go hide now, maybe i'm newt, oh also mature because swears galore, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrytea/pseuds/blueberrytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, wait,” Ben started, looking confused. “Wait, who is this that Thomas is blushing about?” Chuck leaned on Thomas’s shoulder playfully.<br/>“Leeeeo. The greenie.”<br/>“Slim it, Chuck,” Thomas shoved Chuck away, his face growing redder and his grin wider.<br/>Newt felt broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, man. Sorry I'm so behind. I know a lot of you people want another chapter of You Can Run, but I'm having really bad writer's block and I'm really stressed out and testing and stuff. So, I'm posting this crappy one-shot to maybe make up a little bit for being so inactive. :(  
> Sorry, guys. I'll try to post another chapter ASAP.
> 
> Update: Holy crap. So, uh...I'm doing this, I guess. Thanks for your wonderful support, you guys. New chapter coming soon!

No matter how much Newt tried, he couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

_Stupid,_ he told himself.

_Stop it,_ he told himself.

But the hurt raged on.

It was like a broken record, now. Every time Newt forced his thoughts away from it, every time he tried to look for a distraction, he remembered that no one else wanted him. He remembered that now...now he was gone.

Thomas.

Tommy.

_His_ Tommy.

It had been late afternoon, and he and some of the gladers--Minho, Chuck, Ben, Thomas--had been sitting on the grassy hill overlooking the glade. Joking around, talking, the usual day-is-over routine. Newt had been enjoying himself. Laughing at Minho’s antics, maybe, or teasing Thomas for being the sweet idiot that he was.

No matter how much Newt didn’t want to admit it to himself, he became aware that he was noticing things about Thomas he definitely shouldn’t be. Like the way that, if the light hit them just right, the tips of his dark eyelashes would light up, golden. Or how he would give that big, lopsided grin to anyone, but saved a smaller, shyer, much more pleasantly defiant smile only for Newt. Whenever he did it Newt glowed.

The problem was, Newt had never been in love. Or at least, not that he could remember. So when he first noticed himself noticing Thomas, he just about went crazy, hiding from him for several days out of fear. He’d worked himself into denial over a time, and that had been the way he’d dealt with it ever since. Now, after some time around Thomas again, Newt sometimes found himself with the urge to reach out and run his fingers through Thomas’s hair, or press his nose to the top of his head to take in his scent. He suppressed these urges, of course. Usually.

Today he’d woken up with a peculiar feeling of confidence, like he had nothing to lose. And on that grassy hill, after Thomas had said something stupid that made everyone laugh, Newt saw his hand moving closer and closer to Thomas’s.

That’s when Minho had said it.

“...yeah, I know. They totally have a thing for each other, they’re just not admitting it.” He nudged Thomas with a smug smirk. Newt fumbled for words, drawing his hand away.

“What?” he said, but no one heard him.

“Guys...” Thomas sighed. Everyone laughed.

“Look, he’s blushing!” Chuck hooted.

“No! No, no, no, you see, I like to be tactical.” Thomas tried to break through the laughter, but it erupted once more. “I just wait a little bit, break the walls down, and then go in for the kill!”

“Oh, he’s a strategy man!” Minho cackled.

Newt stared at his hands.

“Wait, wait,” Ben started, looking confused. “Wait, who is this that Thomas is blushing about?” Chuck leaned on Thomas’s shoulder playfully.

“Leeeeo. The greenie.”

“Slim it, Chuck,” Thomas shoved Chuck away, his face growing redder and his grin wider.

Newt felt broken. Every second spent not looking at Thomas felt like another lead weight dropping into his all-too-heavy heart. He was starting to breath quicker, his chest tightening, and he hardly heard when someone asked, in between giggles, “Hey, Newt, you all right?”

Newt stood suddenly and the laughter stopped. He told his feet to go, go, go far away from here but they didn’t. They stood on the ground of the grassy hill in the late afternoon and Newt said something like,

“Uhm...”

And then, as if waiting for the right cue, they carried him away.

Away, past the kitchen and the garden and into a quiet patch of shade, leafy towers swaying gently above him.

And here, now, Newt couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

The feeling was like a broken record, spinning repeating, reminding him that no one else wanted him. Reminding Newt that now, after all this time, his golden boy was gone.

 


	2. Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost a surprise when Newt runs away.  
>  _Almost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this took me so long to write and it's not even that long and I--  
> I just--  
> I can't--  
> Gah  
> Sorry guys >.

It’s almost a surprise when Newt runs away.

_Almost._

Sometimes Thomas sees Newt out of the corner of his eye giving him a sideways glance like he wanted to do something but wasn’t sure if he should.

Thomas thought he should. Thomas thought Newt should do whatever he wanted.

Because, the truth was, Thomas wanted something too. He wanted...well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted. But it had to do with Newt, somehow, he was sure of it. He felt a pang of something every time he would catch Newt glancing at him, and he was determined to find out what that something was.

Leo wasn’t bad looking at all. In fact, he looked a bit like Newt--blond hair, tall, lanky, brown eyes. Only, his hair was a couple shades darker and curly, and his voice was the lowest low. Thomas had liked the boy when he first came out of the box. He came out like Thomas had, ready to run.

Leo had taken to him when Thomas introduced himself. He practically sang Thomas’s praise whenever he got the chance, which, Thomas had to admit, had its perks. But he wasn’t Newt. However, without knowing what he was doing, Thomas had found himself getting closer to Leo. Giving _him_ glances. Of course, looking back at Newt afterwards, but then pretending he hadn’t just to spite himself.

The others started noticing, soon, and when they were teasing him about a certain incident that involved he and Leo emerging from the small corner of forest with sex-ruffled hair, Thomas realized that maybe he had gotten himself in too deep. That maybe this was a terrible idea and he should stop doing bad things to his sanity. Not to mention the idea of Newt.

That’s all Newt was anymore, an idea. He had drawn away from Thomas slightly, as if he were unsure. Newt seemed to be unsure every time Thomas saw him these days. The looks he used to give him were replaced by fleeting signs of hurt on his face when Thomas tried to pursue him.

After a month or so, Thomas had finally decided to end it with Leo, and he constantly sat in a puddle of guilt. Although, with every refusal of Leo’s attempts to make something out of nothing (or, at least, nothing anymore), Thomas saw Newt glow a little brighter, like a city slowly returning from a blackout. Thomas saw and he felt sick.

He felt sick with how incredibly dumb he had been to ever think Leo would be a good idea, and he felt sick that hurting him made him feel better than he ever did during those nights under the stars, in the woods, behind the hammocks.

He felt sick because he would have to confront Newt at some point, and that was terrifying.

So, with all of this swirling around in Thomas’s brain, he tried to ward off the words of his friends on that sunny day on the hill. He dug himself in deeper and deeper into trouble as he tried to climb out, and when he looked over to Newt he was near tears. Thomas, in one last attempt to mend things, in one flailing motion of desperation, said, “Hey, Newt, you all right?”

And then Newt ran away.

Thomas felt broken.


	3. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine, thanks. I just need sleep.” Thomas put a hand on his arm.
> 
> “Are you sure?” His touch burned, burned Newt through his clothes. Newt couldn’t look at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #OhNoBlue  
> I'm sorry for the hiatus, guys. I've been having some anxiety issues and I needed to get them under control, which didn't leave much time for writing or much of anything at all. Also, it looks like this fic is gonna be a bit shorter than I anticipated. I've just gottem into a new fandom (*cough* it's so not One Direction *cough*) and have been more inspired in writing Larry (*cough* not obsessed *cough*) lately. Soooo...there might be a shortage of Newtmas fics, but hopefully they'll pop up every once in a while.  
> :)  
> You guys rock <3 <3

            Newt had a plethora of hateful fantasies run through his head as he sat against a tree in the Deadheads, its shade doing nothing to cool his rage. Or whatever it was. Newt had never been the jealous type. Ever. If anything, he was the one making his boyfriend jealous—

            Boyfriend. Had Thomas ever been his boyfriend?

            He put his head in his hands. Nothing would be able to snuff out whatever feelings he had for the boy. He’d just have to--

            “Newt?” Someone called out from the edge of the forest.

_Pleasedon’tbethomaspleasepleaseplease_

A sharp ‘thwack’ sounded as the dark-haired boy became partly visible through the leaves.

            “ _Shit_ ,” Newt whispered. “Shit, shit, shit--”

            “Hey,” Thomas said as he came towards Newt, cornering him.

            “Um,” Newt said, voice thick still from crying.

            “What...what happened?” His voice was genuinely tender, as if he actually cared about Newt’s feelings--

            No. He couldn’t blame Thomas for this. This was his own fault.

            “I...” Newt started, but now his words became still, perhaps following suit with his feet. “You...” His voice hitched, and then stopped.

            “Newt.” Thomas glided closer, quiet. “I know something’s wrong. You can tell me, I swear.”

            “No, I can’t, Tommy.”

            “If this has something to do with how you hurt your leg--”

            “Tommy, it has _nothing_ to do with that!”

            Or maybe it did?

            After all, Newt felt like he couldn’t stand it for much longer. He’d tried to be with a few of the other boys, but it never took. This, now, being _so close_...

            “Newt, I don’t want you to get hurt again. You’re the reason I get up out of bed most days.”

            “Stop, Tommy.”

            “No, don’t you see? You’re the only person who really gets me, you know? I hate to see you hurting--”

            “Stop it.” Newt didn’t look at him, just watched his own feet as he sidestepped and half-ran out of the forest, not caring how much his stupid shucking leg hurts.

            “Newt...”

            It was night, now, and the sky was obsidian-black. He could see the boys around the bonfire, dancing and drinking. He could see the greenie joking with Minho.

            He does the only thing he knows how to do anymore.

            He runs away.

 

***

            The morning was fierce. Fiercer than usual. The sun beat down on Newt’s face through the material of an empty hammock above him, and instantly he felt an overwhelming opposition to getting up.

            He had wandered here after the run-in with Thomas last night when he realized that, besides the Deadheads, there really wasn’t anywhere in the Glade to run. He’d sat against a post in the back of the hammocks for a while, and then fell asleep, feeling sheepish and stupid.

            He always felt stupid these days.

            Sitting up and curling against the large post once more, Newt stretched weakly and stifled a yawn. He wondered what time it was, and why Minho hadn’t barged in on him yet to tell him to get to work. As he turned to look behind him at the clearing, he felt a light touch on his shoulder and jumped. Thomas crouched beside him, looking surprised and mildly amused.

            “Hey.” He smiled softly.

            “Hi,” Newt replied. His voice was hoarse.

            “Are you feeling okay?” Newt contemplated. If he played sick maybe he could get out of working today… “I mean…do you, like…need anything?”

            “Um, I’m actually not feeling so great. I think I might have a cold.” He cleared his throat for effect.

            “Okay.” Thomas didn’t draw away, he only sat and scooched a little closer. “Do you want me to stay? I said you weren’t feeling well after yesterday, so…I sorta got out of work. Like, to take care of you.”

            _The bloody bastard! How’d he manage that with Minho?_ On the inside, Newt fumed. But he only said, “I’m fine, thanks. I just need sleep.” Thomas put a hand on his arm.

            “Are you sure?” His touch burned, burned Newt through his clothes. Newt couldn’t look at him.

            “Yes, Tommy. I’m bloody sure.” He stood and laid in the empty hammock, turning away from Thomas.

            He waited a couple minutes until he heard Thomas’s footsteps, then, exhausted by an unknown force, drifted off to sleep.


	4. Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Millions of possible conversations kept popping into his head, and Thomas wanted to tell them all to go screw themselves, wanted to forget for a moment about how pissed his fucking _best friend_ was at him—  
>  Wait.  
> Wait a second.  
> Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What universe,” you ask? Oh, I don’t know, I’m probably just making it from scratch, now. No fuckin’ clue! Haha!! *throws common sense to the wind* Okay, seriously, though, I’m sorry I made you wait for this terrible thing. It has ripped my soul from my body. This is the first chaptered anything I’ve ever finished, like, ever, so it was bound to be absolutely horrible and unsatisfying. I know, I know, this is begging for a sequel fic, but…god, I REALLY need a different, sensible universe. Help. Don’t kill me. I love you all.
> 
> #GetBlueSomeDecentPlotSkills

Thomas felt like a jackass. He felt like the worst kind of jackass, the kind that didn’t know exactly what he did wrong. All he knew was that Newt was pissed at him. Sure, he had become more and more irritable as Thomas’s _relationship_ (if that’s what you want to call it) with Leo had taken off, and Thomas suspected that Newt had been annoyed because he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with him (and even when he did, Newt had been distant and angst-y). Now that he’d broken it off…

Well, maybe Newt hadn’t known. The others hadn’t, either. And he rushed off so soon, before Thomas had gotten to debunk the rumors. He figured it wouldn’t do anything now. Newt would just get even _angrier_ at him if he was wrong about the jealousy, and he’d look like a clumsy doofus either way.

_Fuck._

“You’re quiet today, Tommy boy,” Minho huffed beside him. Thomas nearly stumbled at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that,” he stated, and pulled ahead of Minho and the other runners to round a corner. Minho caught up to him quickly.

“Does this have to do with Newt?” Thomas didn’t say anything. He focused on keeping his feet and breathing steady, looking straight ahead. Minho let up for a while, but then blurted out, “What happened the other day? Didn’t look good.”

“Would you just drop it?” Thomas snapped, heat flaring in his face. Minho complied, the topic left behind as they jogged into the Glade. It was only when the other runners had left the map room that Minho spoke directly to him again.

“He really cares about you.” Thomas looked at the boy across the table. Minho had stopped what he was doing and was staring right back.

“Why isn’t he talking to me, then? Huh? I sure as hell don’t know.” Minho laughed at him.

“You really are one stupid shank, aren’t you?”

“Will you stop calling me names and just tell me what’s…” Thomas trailed off, tuning in to the faint blare of an alarm. “Really? Right now?”

Minho smiled sympathetically and punched Thomas on the arm on his way out. Thomas was left to wander in confusion to the Box.

The festivities and laughter of a new Greenie took his mind off things for a while. The Greenie came out of the box twitching, too nervous to do anything. He was tall and wiry, with short brown hair and large brown eyes. Thomas thought he looked a bit like a stork.

More than watching the newcomer prove himself with Gally that night, however, Thomas wanted to watch Newt. He _missed_ Newt. The old Newt. He saw a little bit of that boy come out, sometimes, but never fully. He hated himself for being the one to him go away.

Was he, though? Thomas scratched idly at his side in his hammock, listening to Chuck jokingly make fun of the Greenie. Maybe there was something else. Thomas feared it was depression again, coming in to claim him like it had before, so thick and dark and isolating that it could make Newt want to throw himself off—

Thomas stopped himself when shivers gathered at the base of his spine. He’d rather die than watch Newt do that to himself.

But what if Newt was fine? What if he simply didn’t like Thomas anymore? What if--

“Thomas?” Chuck had paused in his monologue, concern riddling his gaze.

“Hm? Sorry, man, I’m so tired.”

“Oh.” Chuck looked mildly disappointed. “Then I guess I’ll just let you sleep.”

“Thanks. Sorry.” Thomas turned over onto his side, willing sleep to take him where his thoughts could be quiet.

Unfortunately, as the hours passed, wave after wave of those thoughts crashed into him. Stab after stab of guilt. Millions of possible conversations kept popping into his head, and Thomas wanted to tell them all to go screw themselves, wanted to forget for a moment about how pissed his fucking _best friend_ was at him—

Wait.

Wait a second.

Oh.

How hadn’t he—?

_Oh._

The hand brushing, the teasing, the longing looks thrown at him, the nicknames, the secretive touches, the jealousy, the slight smile and sweeping eyelash movements and the _blush_ —

Holy shit.

Newt was in love with him.

_Newt_ was in _love_ with him.

Holy fucking shit.

Thomas sat bolt upright in his hammock, promptly falling out of it and onto the dusty ground. Chuck stirred in his sleep but didn’t wake, and after a few moments of panicked stillness Thomas broke into a dead run to the dying bonfire, where he knew Newt had been spending his nights.

Probably just to avoid Thomas.

Jeez, Minho was right. He really _was_ one stupid shank.

Thomas slowed as he drew closer to the bonfire. He could make out a boy with blond hair leaning against a log on the far side, head leaned back to look at the sky.

God, he was beautiful. How come Thomas hadn’t admitted this?

He stopped as he realized he didn’t know what he was doing. Suddenly he was scared, scared to go up that beautiful angry boy and…well, what had he planned to do?

Thomas stood, staring, as Newt looked down from the stars and, incidentally, straight at Thomas. They stayed like that for a second, and then Thomas said,

“Hi.” Newt didn’t move.

“Hi.” Thomas put his hands in his pockets.

“Um…are you feeling better?” He mentally hit himself for that one.

“A bit, yeah.” Newt didn’t break eye contact. Thomas stepped forward slowly.

“Look, uh…I just wanted to…well…I didn’t really know…” He stopped a few paces from the other boy. Newt just looked at him. Thomas panicked. “Do you like me?”

His words hung, heavy, in the air. Shock crept over Newt’s stare. Then, as if regaining his ability to speak, he pushed out,

“Why?” It was Thomas’s turn to be taken aback.

“Why? Because you just…you’ve been so…” He gestured wildly with his hands, trying to make them speak for him. “I may sort of like you. Maybe.” Newt looked stunned. And then he laughed. “What?” Thomas asked.

“You’re funny.”

“Wait, do you not like—”

“No, no, I…I…” Newt was still smiling, his eyes turn to the ground.

“Because, like, I just figured this out, and I didn’t really see you like that, but now that I’ve realized I can’t believe I didn’t notice anything before and I’m thinking about you in this whole new way, and it’s just—it’s great, and I don’t really know what to do with myself, but I think I have it figured out.” Thomas paused. “It’s because of Leo, right?”

“Tommy…”

“Is it? All of this?”

“It…” Newt looked pained, now, and Thomas felt the urge to sit down next to him. He did.

“Because I think I really like you, and I think—“

“Y’know, it’s been quite close to literal hell seeing you with someone else.” Newt drew in a wavering breath. “Because I was sure you knew. I’ve been so obvious, Tommy, I was sure you knew, and then you just dangle your budding sexuality in my face and—I couldn’t help thinking that you were just—” And then he turns to Thomas, eyes blazing. “If you’re playing with me, I swear to _god_ —”

“No! Newt, no. No. No, I am not. I can’t even imagine doing that--oh, my—” Thomas faced Newt, reaching out to touch his arm. “Newt, I want you to know that I care for you so much, more than I thought I could. As a friend, and now, I’m just realizing, maybe something else. I scared myself so badly today when I thought of you depressed and reckless and I want to make sure that never happens to you. Ever. I want to protect you. And I promise I will.” A silence followed, a smile slowly creeping onto Newt’s face.

“You curious creature,” He near-whispered fondly. “I…I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Then don’t say anything.” Thomas grinned, sneaking a hand onto one of Newt’s own.

“Alright,” Newt responded, and gave Thomas the softest, fondest gaze he had ever been on the receiving end of. Thomas smiled dumbly and watched the creases of Newt’s face change as he mirrored, only instead of looking dumb he looked lovely, and Thomas was kicking himself for not noticing him before.

And then a deafening screeching noise sounded from the Maze doors, eliciting a jump from each boy.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” Newt stated grimly, going pale. He stood, taking Thomas with him, and ran as best he could toward the sound. Boys started coming from the hammocks soon after, shouts of fear tearing from their mouths. Because, as Thomas stared at the stone slabs, the doors were opening.

He spun around and started to run, screaming for the other boys to do the same. Newt was slowing already at his side.

“Newt, the Box!” He shouted. Newt nodded, and they ran on.

Thomas threw open the Box, Newt and several other boys hopping down in it. Thomas could hear grievers ravaging the Glade above, their whirring and clicking and tearing intermingling with the cries of the helpless boys. They all crouched on the floor, trying to meld with the shadows. Thomas reached for Newt’s hand and grasped it hard, feeling the blood drain from his knuckles. He couldn’t look at the terror on the other boys’ faces, each one speckled by flecks of torchlight from above. He felt Newt shaking beside him.

_I’m going to keep this boy safe. Nothing will ever happen to him._ Thomas almost believed himself.

After what seemed like hours, the screams faded and the metallic clanking and griever howls ceased--everything hushed save the whimpering of a few boys in the Box. Thomas motioned to Newt and the other boys that he was going to check on the world above, and gently lifted the roof of the cage.

The Glade was in shreds.

Fire chased whatever fuel it could find on the ground, torches laying haphazardly on the grass. A few shouts echoed over the crackle and the intense silence, some names, others wordless, cries of fear and grief. It seemed almost every bit of wood was splintered. One post holding the roof of the kitchen had cracked in half, leaving the building crumpled as if stepped on by some giant foot. The gardens were a mess. The hammocks were on fire. Council Hall seemed in the best shape, despite the large holes torn in the roof.

Thomas ducked back down in the Box.

“I think they’re gone,” he said to the boys, who resembled a weary collection of ghosts. He climbed out and helped the others to the same.

“Shit,” Newt murmured behind him, and reached for his hand. Thomas took it.

“Yeah,” he replied. “‘Shit’ is right.”

 

***

 

Thomas woke to a pink sunrise and Newt’s warm body curled against him. He was sitting slumped against a wall in Council Hall amongst the survivors of the night before, and he had to smile slightly when he noticed his fingers intertwined with the ones belonging to the boy beside him. One look at the torn ceiling above him brought all the memories of the griever attack flooding back, releasing an icy substance into his blood. He shifted uncomfortably. Newt stirred.

“Tommy?” Thomas nearly melted at the name on Newt’s sleepy lips.

“Right here.”

“Is it morning?”

“Yep.”

Thomas listened to the silence outside. It was too quiet. Too deathly quiet.

“We’ve lost everything,” Newt deadpanned. When Thomas peered at him he was looking at the opposite wall.

“We lost a lot of things. But we didn’t lose everything.” Thomas gave the boy’s hand a gentle squeeze, bringing Newt out of his daze to smile briefly at him. “‘We’re all in this together,’ right?” Newt smirked.

“You and me, Tommy. You and me and them against the world.”

“I wonder if there even is a world out there.”

“Yeah? Well...we may never know.”

“We will, Newt. I promise we will.” Newt leaned his head on Thomas’s shoulder.

“You make too many promises.”

“I...” Thomas looked at his lap. “I just want to make everything right.”

“You’ve been a big help. And I’m sure you’ll keep on helping. But you can’t promise everything to everyone, Tommy. It’s impossible.”

“Maybe so, but...”

“I know, you just want to try your hardest. Don’t worry. You’re trying hard enough.” With that Newt fell silent once more. They watched as the bodies around them started to stir, some sitting up and stretching. Minho caught Thomas’s eye and smirked as he stood to walk to the doorway.

“Ho-ly shit.” He declared. “This place is wrecked...” The boy wandered outside. Newt tugged on Thomas’s hand.

“We should get up.”

“Why?”

“Come on.” Newt stood and pulled Thomas up by his arm.

The Glade was even worse in the daylight. The fires had died down, but the sun fiercely highlighted every shattered bit of wood or every scorched tree. Thomas’s heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. Newt looked even more shaken as he tried to venture out to the gardens. Thomas followed. He sat on a singed stump and watched Newt run his fingers across the mangled plants, eyebrows crinkled and bottom lip caught under his top one.

“What do we do now?” Thomas asked after a while. Newt sighed shakily.

“I don’t know.”

“We can’t just stay here, we’re in dan--”

“I know! Look, Tommy, I’m every bit as confused as you are. I have no idea...” Newt broke off and looked to his right, giving Thomas a view of the thin film of tears covering his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, hey, that’s okay.” Thomas went to comfort Newt, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m just...I feel like there’s so much more we have to do, you know? I don’t want to die just yet.” Thomas paused. He could feel the warmth of this beautiful boy in his arms radiating out into every part of him, like some kind of wave that pumped pleasantness into his exhausted body. He pulled Newt closer. “And...I don’t want to never get to kiss you.” Newt looked at him, something so fragile and loving and afraid all sewed together and strewn across his face. Thomas saw a piece of the hurt he had caused the other boy mixed with something else, like a longing, like an apology, like a silent proclamation. Newt opened his mouth.

“Then do it now.”

Thomas wasted no time.

 


End file.
